Centuries-old Jerusalem soup kitchen serves up ‘food with dignity’

Rana steps off Al Wad Street onto a winding narrow stairway, following an almost-hidden passage in the labyrinthine Old City that has led to generosity for nearly 500 years.

Carrying two bucket pails and a shopping bag packed with empty Tupperware, she passes Mameluke-era architecture as part of her daily route – a journey to feed her family.

“This is where we get food with dignity,” says the mother of three. “This is where the Holy City’s generosity is always kept warm.”

Tikiya Khaski al-Sultan, a soup kitchen that has been serving up meals since the height of the Ottoman Empire, is a lifeline for modern-day Jerusalemites who face rising costs and unemployment and are in need of “support without judgment.”

Yet the centuries-old charity also serves up some “good cooking.”

“This isn’t canned food or handouts,” Rana says. “This is a meal for all.”

A woman of influence

The Tikiya soup kitchen and sprawling complex were built on a hill facing the Al-Aqsa Mosque/Temple Mount in 1552 on the order of Roxelana, wife of Ottoman Sultan Suleiman II.

With a reputation for generosity, a kind heart, and a strategic mind, Roxelana, one of the most influential women in the history of the Ottoman Empire, established the soup kitchen and guesthouse to serve travelers, students, religious scholars, residents, and disadvantaged people. It was not only to highlight Jerusalem’s hospitality, but also to cement residents’ dependence on the Ottomans, who had extended their rule over the Holy City 35 years prior.

The complex once included an orphanage, guesthouse, and a school; today, the 16th-century complex and courtyard has 25 rooms, a school, large domes, views of the Old City – and a bustling kitchen.

On a Monday morning, chickens are boiling in giant aluminum vats; delivery boys are stacking crates of tomatoes, onions, and bell peppers in the high-vaulted stone room; and head chef Samir Jaber is frantically checking his inventory, doing calculations for ingredient ratios.

Much has changed over the ages.

The Jordanian government now manages the kitchen at the direction of the Hashemite monarchy.

Centuries ago, the soup kitchen served up a cracked wheat porridge, known as dahsheesha, or tikiya soup; today, the kitchen serves full meals. Instead of feeding individual visitors, it provides food to be taken home for entire families.

And it caters to Jerusalemites’ discerning palates with a sense of mission.

“We want people to eat just as we eat at home,” Mr. Jaber says as he checks on the chickens.

“Jerusalem is a home for all of mankind, which makes this the world’s kitchen. We are making home-cooked food for humanity.”

“Part of the city’s fabric”

Six days a week, 52 weeks a year, Mr. Jaber and his staff arrive at 5 a.m. to begin preparations for meals for 300 families, some 1,500 to 1,800 people – cleaning and prepping meat, gathering and washing vegetables, soaking vats of rice.

During Ramadan, the kitchen ramps up its production to serve visitors to Jerusalem, from the West Bank and farther afield, serving more than 1,000 families a day.

Recipients and chefs laud the menu’s rotation of meals and balanced diet that includes mulikhiya jute leaves; stuffed grape leaves; bean and beef stew; maqloubeh chicken, eggplant, and rice; okra and beef; and the crowd-pleasing mansaf lamb and yogurt.

The kitchen also keeps batches of plain, fully cooked ingredients that residents can take home to add their own personal touches.

Ahead of the 11:30 a.m. rush, assistant chef Ramsi al-Sayli swiftly but precisely dices tomatoes to add to today’s dish of shish tawook chicken in tomato sauce with potatoes.

The veteran chef, who has worked in hotels in Israel and the occupied territories serving well-heeled clientele such as diplomats, tech moguls, and celebrities, says he is “much happier” being assistant chef in “humanity’s kitchen.”

He grew up and lives just a few yards away, near what are now known as the Tikiya steps.

“Everyone knows about the Tikiya from when they are young; it is part of our neighborhood and part of the city’s fabric,” he says as he moves on to dicing onions.

“We Jerusalemites like to be charitable and welcoming to all who are in need. This kitchen is a part of our charitable identity,” he says.

“We don’t feel like beggars”

At 11:30, mothers, fathers, and older people line up at the courtyard, food containers in tow.

As recipients enter the kitchen, the head chef and his staff move as fast as possible, piling in potatoes, scooping in whole chickens, and shoveling steaming-hot rice into buckets, coolers, and containers of all shapes and sizes.

“We don’t feel like beggars. We feel like respected individuals whose lives are being given added support,” Rana says, balancing buckets of potatoes and cooked chicken that weigh down each arm.

“This kitchen is a pillar on which we can stand. It allows us to live and to continue to live in Jerusalem.”

“Plus,” she adds, “the food is quite good.”

Um Salem, whose father and son have disabilities and whose household does not have a single working adult to bring in income, says her family relies on the kitchen not only to subsidize their lives – but also for special occasions. 

“They cook us special meals upon request. I asked for pastries so we can celebrate my son’s graduation, and they baked it for us so we could host,” says Um Salem. “It’s as if we have family helping us out, not a charity taking pity on us.”

Rising cost of food

Difficult times are mounting for many Old City residents, with unemployment and underemployment high.

As many of the Palestinians in the Old City do not hold Israeli citizenship, they often fall through the cracks of services provided by Israel, the Palestinian Authority, and Jordan.

Joining the soup kitchen’s six-days-a-week line are merchants who shuttered their shops or lost their life savings during the pandemic and have yet to recover.

The cost of living, and of food, is rising again in Jerusalem.

Although the soup kitchen was funded in Ottoman times by a waqf, or charitable trust, collected from the annual production of farms, shops, bathhouses, and flour mills, it depends now on donations from individuals and prayergoers in Jordan, Jerusalem, and beyond, which are gathered by Jordan’s Ministry of Awqaf and Islamic Affairs.

As money is becoming tighter for many Jordanians and Jerusalemites, and donations are starting to slow, charitable individuals are stepping up to keep the food coming.

“Crises and wars come and go, but the desire to give charity remains, good deeds remain, and generosity remains,” Mr. Jaber says as he closes up the kitchen at the end of the day.

“Jerusalem’s heart remains open, and so does our kitchen.”